Five QuestionsPhilip SCHAEFER

Several months ago, my friend and poem partner, Jeff Whitney, and I started a new series (which has now become a short manuscript) in the epistolary form, with each title beginning “Dear Jeff” or “Dear Phil.” We have never lived in the same city (he’s in Portland, I’m in Missoula) but have discovered our practices and poetic voices link up in a way that is both cohesive and corrosive. We drown and burn in each other’s work. We pull out of each other a haunting we may not have otherwise realized was present. This particular poem, while a bit sinister in tone and dark in imagery, is really more of a concrete attempt to bridge the geographical space between our lives. That said, I don’t know exactly where that villainous voice came from. I often look at poems I write and think “shit man, do you need to talk to someone?” For me, the page is a flashlight undressing an abandoned attic. Never know what dust you’ll kick up.

How do you decide on line breaks?

I’m an utter sucker for enjambment, maybe above all else, when it comes to line breaks and general poetics. We all have our rules (which we all probably break), and one of mine is to end each line with the strongest possible word on said line (usually concrete nouns). Additionally, I obsess over the shapes of poems and what a line’s length can do in relationship to the lines sandwiching it. If you’re able to pull off a compound image via a line break, adding layers to its interpretation, you’ve got me in the heart of your palm, drooling, twitching.

Do you consider yourself a fast or slow writer?

I think I’m a very fast writer. Unlike almost every poet I know, I compose 95% of my stuff on the computer. A pencil in my hand can’t move quickly enough across paper for me to put down whatever is going on inside my twisted little head. It’s unconventional in that it’s so convenient. I feel like I’m supposed to bury my face in my hands for even admitting my process is both pencil and typewriter free. Is what it is.

How do you know when a poem is ready to be submitted?

I have a handful of very wise, talented, and thorough poet friends with whom I constantly exchange work. When I send them a draft ― first or ninety-ninth ― and realize I’m not applying any of their edits (which is rare), I know to file the poem under “good luck, you idiot.”

Why do you write poems? Why not essays, plays, novels, etc.?

I have a very short attention span and a fierce admiration for economy of language. I read an interview with Anne Carson recently in which she says “If prose is a house, poetry is a man on fire running quite fast through it.” That’s why I write poems ― to burn shit down with language.